His Favorite Mistress Page 23

  “There is nothing to consider. Nothing at all. Your coach awaits you, madam. Pray permit me to see you out.”

  “Do not bother, Wyvern. I can find my own way to the front door. Good day.” With a regal swish of her skirts, she departed.

  The atmosphere in the room shifted the moment she had gone, as if a great storm cloud had just blown through. Gabriella raised her gaze to his. “Tony, I—”

  “You need not say a word. My mother is what she is and I have found it best not to dwell on her. I do apologize, however, for whatever portion of our conversation you may have heard.”

  “I heard very little. And honestly, I did not mean to intrude—”

  “I know,” he said, drawing her into his arms. “And your presence is never an intrusion. This is your home and you are its duchess. You have a right to go anywhere within these walls that you choose.”

  “Including your personal rooms and this study?” she quipped.

  He could tell she was half teasing, but he was not. “Yes, even those, even here,” he told her with utter sincerity. “Now,” he continued, deciding a change of topic was greatly warranted. “I was wondering if you might enjoy taking an excursion this afternoon?”

  Her beautiful eyes lighted with interest. “Oh, but do you not need to work?”

  He shook his head. “Not today. How do you feel about a picnic?”

  A grin brightened her face, and her arms looped snuggly around his waist. “I would adore a picnic! When shall we leave?”

  He smiled. “Within the hour. As soon as a hamper and horses can be arranged.” Leaning down, he pressed his lips to hers for a brief but distinctly satisfying kiss. By the time their embrace ended, he’d forgotten all about his confrontation with his mother, Gabriella and the afternoon ahead the only things left on his mind.

  Five mornings later, Gabriella sat in her own study and listened politely while Mrs. Armstrong consulted with her about the running of the household. Despite the fact that the older woman had been doing an excellent job managing the staff and the day-to-day activities of the estate for some years, she seemed genuinely pleased to have Gabriella’s input.

  For her part, Gabriella tried her best. At times she felt woefully inadequate, still so new to Rosemeade that she hadn’t even realized there was a dairy, an apiary, and a brewery on the grounds until Mrs. Armstrong asked her questions concerning each. She offered comments and suggestions where they seemed advisable; otherwise she deferred to the housekeeper, trusting her clearly wise counsel.

  “That sounds lovely. Thank you, Your Grace,” the woman said, making a notation about an addition to one of the dinner menus. “His Grace quite likes apricots, so using them as part of the entremets will be just the thing.”

  “Apricots are a favorite of mine as well. I shall look forward to trying Cook’s dish.”

  While the housekeeper made a few additional notes to herself in a small ledger, Gabriella took a moment to let her thoughts drift, centering, as they so frequently did these days, on Tony.

  Not surprisingly, she and Tony’s afternoon excursion the other day had been delightful, the secluded location just right for a picnic. Under the shade of a leafy elm with a pristine blue stream flowing nearby, they’d eaten their meal and talked. He’d flirted with her as well, teasing and tempting her over dessert until their mood had grown abruptly amorous.

  Despite her initial concern that someone might happen along, he’d soon convinced her otherwise, enthralling her with kisses and caresses until she’d been too dizzy with need to care who might see. Afterward they’d returned home, then gone upstairs to her bed, where they’d continued to let their passions run free long into the night.

  Not until the next morning did she remember that he’d said nothing further about the visit from his mother. Nor had he mentioned her in the days since, resuming his usual routine as if nothing at all had occurred. Part of her wanted to question him, to let him know he might confide in her should there be anything he wished to say. But she remained silent, suspecting he would tell her he had no concerns whatsoever and to leave everything exactly as it was.

  As she’d told him, she really had heard very little of what he and his mother had been discussing that day, but the memory of the coldness in his voice was enough to send a shiver rippling through her even now. The fact that he didn’t like his mother was clear. The why, however, was not. She couldn’t say she’d liked his mother much either, but as she knew, all families had troubles and disagreements. Though to her, this seemed to be more.

  “Mrs. Armstrong,” she said suddenly, “you have been here at Rosemeade for many years, have you not?”

  The housekeeper glanced up, a proud smile on her lined face. “Yes, Your Grace, since I was a girl. I came into service at twelve, started first as a tweeny, then moved up to second upstairs’ maid, then first. I even worked in the nursery for a time before I was offered the opportunity to train as the housekeeper.”

  Gabriella’s pulse gladdened at the news. “So you knew the duke when he was a boy?”

  The older woman’s expression grew soft. “Why, I’ve known him since the day he came into this world. Swaddled his little rump myself, though I would not dare remind him of that now,” she added on a chuckle. “The master was always so bright and full of youthful energy.”

  “And his mother? What about her? How was she with him?”

  The smile fell from the housekeeper’s face. “Her Grace was…Her Grace. She had many interests that did not include looking after a child, but then very few of the Quality actually take an active part in the raising of their children. No offense intended, Your Grace,” she added, casting a worried look at Gabriella.

  “None taken, since I find I agree. So she was absent?”

  “Yes. She longed for the city and would often persuade the duke—the late duke—to take her to London. Sometimes, they went abroad for several months as well.”

  “And Tony was left here alone?”

  “Lord Howland, as he was known then, stayed with his nurses and the rest of the staff.”

  “And when his parents returned?”

  “Why, he was overjoyed, of course. His father fairly doted on him and seemed to regret the time away. They spent every day together when the duke was in residence.”

  “And his mother?”

  The housekeeper paused for a moment. “Well, he adored her, too. He was such a good boy, always looking for ways to please and amuse her in hopes of earning her approbation.” She lowered her gaze, clearly uncomfortable. “Forgive me, but I am afraid I have said far more than I ought and should not continue.”

  “Oh, but I wish you would,” Gabriella urged in a reassuring tone. “I only want to understand. When the dowager duchess called the other day, I could not help but notice a marked distance between her and my husband.”

  Mrs. Armstrong glanced up and sighed. “Yes, ’tis true, the duke and his mother are not close, though I know His Grace does his best to be generous and considerate despite the fact that she does little to deserve his kindness.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The housekeeper’s gray eyebrows drew together as if weighing whether or not to continue. “Well, Your Grace, the dowager is, and always has been, a very vain, selfish sort who expects the world and everyone in it to bow to her every whim. When she first came to live here at Rosemeade, though, she seemed content enough. The late duke loved her to distraction and did everything in his power to make her happy. For a time, I believe they were. But then she discovered she was with child, and that was when everything changed. She simply could not be cheered.”

  “You mean she didn’t want him, her own baby?” Gabriella demanded, aghast at the idea.

  “I’m not sure it was so much not wanting the child as disliking having to carry him. She would cry for hours over her cumbersome shape and complain about how dreadfully miserable she felt. When the time arrived for the birth, the delivery did not go well. Her Grace nearly died, and I believe that
is why there were never any more children. The duke did his best to pretend all was well after that, but anyone with eyes could tell it was not.”

  “How sad!”

  The older woman nodded. “That’s when the affairs started. She was discreet at first, but as the years went on, she became more and more incautious until no one was left in doubt of her faithlessness, least of all the duke. I’m not sure when His Grace knew, since he was only a child at the time, but he was fully aware there were problems between his parents. Then the duke fell ill.”

  “What happened?” Gabriella asked, leaning slightly forward in her chair.

  “He was caught in a downpour and took a bad chill. The ague set in a couple of days later and he came down with a terrible fever. The duchess dismissed the idea of calling a physician. She said it was only a bit of a cold and he would be right again in no time. She left soon after to be with one of her amours. His Grace is the one who ordered the physician once he realized how severe his father’s condition had become, but by then it was simply too late. There was nothing to be done. The duke died late the next evening with the young master at his bedside.”

  “How old was my husband?”

  Mrs. Armstrong met her gaze, her eyes filled with sorrow. “Only ten. He wept like a wild thing, shaking his father and telling him to wake up. He wouldn’t leave, refusing to accept. We finally had to force him to his room and give him a little laudanum so he could sleep. I think His Grace blamed himself for the duke’s death. I think he blamed his mother as well.”

  Gabriella wiped a trace of moisture from the corner of her eye, remembering the deaths of her parents and how hard it had been to cope—and she had been a great deal older than ten.

  “Her Grace arrived two days later, after we sent word of what had occurred,” the housekeeper went on. “She stood over the body and didn’t shed a tear, Your Grace, and when the young master ran to her for comfort, she…she sent him back to the nursery. But that wasn’t the worst.”

  “Why? What did she do?”

  “She decided to send him off to school. His father hadn’t even been in the grave a week when she told him he would be going. Maybe I shouldn’t tell you this, since I don’t think even His Grace realizes I overheard, but…he begged her to let him stay. He got down on his knees and pleaded with her to allow him to remain here at Rosemeade. He told her he’d be good and wouldn’t get into a bit of trouble. He’d mind his tutor and do every lesson he was given. He told her he loved her and asked her to stay and not go traveling again for a while. I was as relieved as the young duke when I heard her tell him he could remain.

  “But the very next morning…she ordered all his trunks packed, and made us awaken him early to get him dressed and fed. Then with her lover standing right at her side, they put him in the coach. She told him it was time he acted like a man, instead of a weak little boy. He was the duke now and he ought to behave as befits his title and his duty. Lord above, I’ll never forget the master’s face—he looked so shocked and betrayed. But he didn’t cry, not so much as a tear. I think whatever love he felt for her died that day. Maybe she was alive, but for him, he’d lost both parents. I know that was the last time he ever called her Mama.”

  She drew a rueful breath before concluding her story. “After his coach rolled away, she went off to the Continent with her lover. His Grace didn’t come home for six more years, not even for holidays. Once he did return…well, he truly was a man grown, the duke in every way in spite of his young years.”

  Gabriella sat for a long minute, imagining it all, seeing Tony as he must have been then, young and defenseless, without anyone in the world who truly loved him—certainly not the woman who had given him birth. How could she have been so callous? How could any mother treat her son in such a cold, heartless way? It was a wonder he could bring himself to speak to her at all. Gabriella would not have done so, and if she’d known last week what she knew now, she would have sent the woman away with a flea in her ear. She didn’t know how Tony could so much as tolerate being in the same room with her—hateful woman!

  “Thank you, Mrs. Armstrong,” she said. “Thank you for telling me. I can only imagine how abandoned he must have felt. How alone. She is a dreadful woman and I shan’t be inviting her here to the estate, nor to the townhouse in London. I wouldn’t serve her so much as a cup of tea, I’ll tell you that!”

  The housekeeper smiled. “Oh, Your Grace, it’s glad I am that the duke has found you. You are just what he needs, and we can all see how deeply you care for him. I don’t believe he has trusted any woman since he was a boy—I expect that’s why he was so adamant about never wanting to marry. But he couldn’t resist you, now, could he? Nor you him.”

  “No,” she said. “As I have discovered, His Grace is completely irresistible.”

  Is Mrs. Armstrong right? Gabriella wondered. Had Tony’s refusal to marry all these years been because he couldn’t trust a woman enough to commit to such a bond? Because he wouldn’t let himself take the risk of falling in love? He’d made no secret of his intention to spend his life as a bachelor. And yet he’d married her, had he not? If she’d needed confirmation that he loved her, she didn’t any more. After all, what other reason could there have been for his change of heart and mind?

  Still, there was a part of him that remained closed off to her, she knew, inviolate and accessible to no one but himself. Yet trust took time, did it not? And patience. Maybe she only needed to wait and show him her love, until slowly, like water dripping on a rock, the barrier he kept between them gave way.

  Besides, she sensed he was happy despite the fact that they spent much of their days apart now. He was busy with his duties, while she had new responsibilities of her own. And there was still so much for her to learn about Rosemeade, and especially about how to be its duchess. She wanted Tony to be proud and have no cause to regret his choice of bride. To that end, she supposed she really ought to return to her review of domestic matters.

  “My thanks again for telling me about His Grace. I shall not forget it,” she told the servant. “We were discussing menus before, were we not? Shall we continue?”

  “With pleasure, Your Grace.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “OH, YOU’RE HERE!” Gabriella exclaimed as she hurried down Rosemeade’s front steps toward the refined, black coach-and-four that had pulled to a stop only moments ago. Her scarlet cashmere cloak fluttered in the crisp December wind, her pleasure impervious to the clouds that lumbered in the overcast sky.

  “Gabriella!” Julianna said as soon as Rafe finished assisting her to the ground. The two women embraced, laughing at being together once again; then it was Rafe’s turn to wrap Gabriella in an exuberant hug before setting her away for his inspection.

  “I need not ask how you are,” he said with a smile, “since I can see that for myself. You look well.”

  She smiled. “I am. Wonderfully, in fact. And so glad you could come for the Christmas holidays. Ethan and Lily arrived not fifteen minutes ago and are already inside with Tony. Everyone else should be here soon, including Maris and William and Harry. I’m so glad Maris decided she felt well enough to travel, what with her being nearly six months along with the baby.”

  “I had a letter from her just last week,” Julianna volunteered, “and she says she’s feeling extremely well. A good thing, too, since she would have been quite blue-deviled to have had to miss the festivities.”

  Without warning, Gabriella felt a light tug on her cloak. Glancing down, she discovered Campbell Pendragon’s intense green gaze on her, his little arms stretched high in clear expectation of receiving his own greeting. “Up, Aunt Gabby. I want up.”

  “Hello, sweetheart,” she said, as she bent down to lift him into her arms. “So you haven’t forgotten me then, hmm?”

  “Lord no,” Julianna replied with a smile. “He’s talked of nothing else over the past two weeks, ever since I told him we were coming to visit Aunt Gabriella and Uncle Tony.”

&nbs
p; The boy snuggled close, grinning as he twined his arms around her neck. She shifted him, finding him amazingly heavy despite his lean frame. “He looks more like Rafe every day.”

  “And acts like him, too, if the stubborn streak he’s developed is any example,” Julianna quipped, taking fourteen-month-old Stephanie from the nursemaid.

  “You love my stubborn streak,” Rafe countered with supposed affront.

  “I love you, darling. As for the streak….” Julianna gave a teasing shrug before trading adoring glances with her husband.

  “Oh, just look at the baby!” Gabriella declared. “Oh, how she’s grown. And so beautiful!”

  “Ladies, if I might offer a suggestion,” Rafe interrupted. “Why don’t we continue this conversation inside where it is warm and not threatening to pour rain at any moment?”

  Agreeing, the five of them entered the house, along with a small swarm of servants who were working to unload the baggage from both coaches and bring it into the house. In the front hall, they met Tony, Ethan, and Lily, who had been on their way outside to greet them. A fresh round of hugs and welcomes ensued, with Cam passed happily to several different pairs of arms.

  They were about to go upstairs to the drawing room five minutes later when Gabriella saw Lily pause suddenly and turn her head. Her pretty red eyebrows drew together as she stared at a wicker hamper that had just been carried inside. “Perhaps I am mistaken, but is that basket mewing?”

  Julianna’s dark eyes grew wide, turning to hand the baby to Rafe. “Oh, my! In all the excitement, I nearly forgot.”

  “Forgot what?” Tony asked, shooting an incriminating look at the basket in question.

  “We’ve brought you a special present. Well, Gabriella really, but they’re for both of you to enjoy.”

  Tony frowned harder. “They?”

  A fresh set of meows resounded. Hearing them, Gabriella smiled and hurried forward. Yanking open a strap, she pulled the top off the wicker hamper. “Kittens!” she cried as she gazed down at two of the most adorable cats she’d ever seen, one orange and the other black. “Oh, they’re just precious.” Reaching inside, she stroked one, then the other, their fur soft as silk.